I have come to the conclusions that the canine species may not have thumbs, the ability to speak English (or any other human language) or the brainpower to design and build. What Man’s Best Friend (notice the capitalization – a sign of earned respect) does have is the ability to manipulate, drive us crazy and makes us feel guilty.

Now, I know there are a lot of you out there that would shame me for letting a dog get the better of a mere mortal like myself, but they have yet to meet Princess Wrigley Marie Marshmallow. Lately she has displayed her true level of intelligence.

Last week, she was sedated for a teeth cleaning and a biopsy on her noise. The cone they gave her must have been originally designed for a buffalo because it’s so large I’m afraid some windy day (like today) she’ll fly off like the Flying Nun (if you’re under 40, you may not know her, so google her).  We survived her post-op phase which lasted most of the first day.

The true test was dispensing her medications for pain and antibiotic. Usually I can hide her pills in peanut butter, but the real Princess in her came out – she turned nose in a very regal manner as if to say, “Be gone!” Plan B was to buy some liver sausage. Again, Princess Wrigley turned her nose at this delicacy. By this time I’ve had a collective six hours of sleep over two nights and was in no humor for canine snobbery.

But then something dawned on me –this dazed sleepwalking feeling and frustration was just like when our son was two and sick with something – an ear ache, teething, take your pick. He wanted to be held and didn’t want his medicine.

I was relating the issue with one of writers groups and one of them suggested I try pill pockets. Huh? Being the desperate dog mommy I was, I looked them up online and placed an order to be picked up at the store in a couple hours. There was some reluctance on her part in the beginning, but for the next few days things were returning to normal – or as normal as can be with a dog wearing a gigantic cone can be.

Then yesterday Princess Wrigley was at it again. She turned her nose at the pill pockets! I am beside myself. (My husband took the cal from the vet and he couldn’t remember the diagnosis.) She may need to be taking a medication for the rest of her life according to the biopsy results. How, by some miracle, is this going to happen?

So for now, the canine in this battle for dominance and superior intelligence goes to the one wearing the cone! I have time to plot my next course of action.